A  Short  Story 


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By  LESLIE  W.  QUIRK 


CAROLINE  E.  LE  CONTE 


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HOW  TO  WRITE  A  SHORT  STORY 


How  TO  WRITE 
A  SHORT  STORY 


AN  EXPOSITION 
OF  THE  TECHNIQUE 
OF  SHORT  FICTION 


BY 

LESLIE  W.  QUIRK 


THE  EDITOR  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

150  Nassau  St.,  New  York  City 

1906 


.  A/  i4~»J*~+ 


COPYRIGHT,  19041  BY 
EDITOR  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


THE  OUTING  PRB86 
DEPOSIT,  N.  Y. 


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PREFACE 

THE  material  in  the  following  pages 
is  a  series  of  suggestive  talks 
rather  than  a  scholarly  dis- 
course. I  leave  to  others  the  discussion 
of  polish,  atmosphere,  and  artistic  hand- 
ling; I  take  for  my  theme  the  writing  of 
a  short  story  that  will  sell. 

There  are  many  writers  throughout 
the  country,  with  good  educations,  with 
clear  brains,  and  with  the  ambition  to 
see  their  work  in  print,  who  are  failing 
merely  because  they  are  not  familiar 
with  the  technique  of  the  short  story. 
It  is  to  these  that  I  would  appeal. 

In  the  following  pages,  therefore,  I 
have  aimed  above  all  else  to  be  prac- 
tical. I  have  written  in  the  first  per- 
son, without  even  the  shield  of  the  edi- 
torial "we."  I  have  addressed  my 


4  Preface 

reader  directly,  in  a  desire  to  impress 
upon  his  mind  the  fundamental  requi- 
sites of  a  salable  short  story.  In  a 
word,  I  have  endeavored  to  point  out, 
more  or  less  systematically,  every  step 
by  which  an  idea  may  be  converted  into 
a  short  story,  fit  to  appear  between  the 
covers  of  a  reputable  magazine. 

L.  W.  Q. 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

PREFACE  .....   3 
INTRODUCTION  ....   7 

I  THE  PLOT n 

II     METHOD  OF  NARRATION       .         .21 

III  THE  INTRODUCTION      .         .         .31 

IV  THE  STORY  PROPER     .         .         .41 
V    CONCLUSION  AND  CLIMAX     .         .     51 

VI     THE  PREPARATION  OF  MANUSCRIPT    59 
VII     THE  PLACING  OF  THE  STORY  69 


INTRODUCTION 

NOWADAYS  a  good  short  story  is 
a  cash  asset.  The  demand  is 
steady,  the  market  unlimited, 
and  the  prices  good.  No  other  form  of 
writing  attracts  half  the  attention  nor 
commands  half  the  rates  of  payment. 
" Fiction,"  says  Jack  London,  "pays 
best  of  all,  and  when  it  is  of  a  fair  quality, 
is  most  easily  sold."  A  literary  begin- 
ner, I  firmly  believe,  has  a  much  better 
chance  in  this  field  than  in  any  other; 
and  if  he  possesses  a  fair  education  and 
is  in  earnest,  he  has  the  chance  to  make 
a  good  living  and  acquire  a  modest 
fame. 

Every  day  that  passes  adds  new  mar- 
kets for  the  short  story.  Says  Frank  A. 
Munsey : 

"The  great  field  to-day  is  for  writers 
of  fiction.  There  is  not  half  enough  to 
go  around.  Publishers  all  over  the 
world  are  reaching  out  for  both  short  and 


8  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

long  stories.  Good  ones  are  extremely 
difficult  to  find.  Prices  have  gone  up 
and  up  and  up,  but  the  supply  does  not 
begin  to  equal  the  demand.  Nothing 
appeals  to  so  wide  a  class  or  gives  so 
much  pleasure.  Love,  romance,  mys- 
tery, adventure,  will  never  lose  their 
charm.  They  are  as  fresh  to-day  with 
the  human  heart  as  they  were  in  old 
Pompeii  and  countless  ages  before." 

Nor  is  the  call  only  for  stories  by  well- 
known  authors.  The  editors  of  the  very 
best  magazines  are  constantly  on  the 
alert  for  new  writers.  Mr.  Alden,  editor 
of  Harper's,  says  that  were  it  not  for 
these  contributors  "the  magazine  would 
languish  in  all  its  fine  tissues  for  lack  of 
the  infusion  of  new  blood." 

To-day  the  literary  beginner  who  suc- 
ceeds is  the  one  who  welcomes  sugges- 
tions. He  knows  he  cannot  turn  author 
on  the  instant,  merely  by  wishing;  the 
wish-appeasing  genii  are  not  abroad  in 
this  enlightened  age.  On  the  contrary 
he  realizes  that  he  must  study  the  pro- 
fession; must  fit  himself  for  the  work. 

"In  my  own  case,"  says  William  Dean 


Introduction  9 

Ho  wells,  in  his  recent  book,  "  Literature 
and  Life,"  "I  noticed  that  the  contribu- 
tors who  could  be  best  left  to  themselves 
were  those  who  were  most  amenable  to 
suggestion  and  even  correction,  who 
took  the  blue  pencil  with  a  smile,  and 
bowed  gladly  to  the  rod  of  the  proof- 
reader. Those  who  were  on  the  alert 
for  offence,  who  resented  a  marginal 
note  as  a  slight,  and  bumptiously  de- 
manded that  their  work  be  printed  just 
as  they  had  written  it,  were  commonly 
not  much  more  desired  by  the  reader 
than  by  the  editor." 

In  conclusion,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to 
suggest  that  the  short  story  writer  often 
becomes  a  novelist.  It  is  true  that  all 
who  can  write  short  fiction  cannot  pro- 
duce a  readable  book,  but  a  little  reflec- 
tion will  show  that  a  large  percentage  of 
the  novelists  served  an  apprenticeship 
writing  short  stories. 


I 

THE  PLOT 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   PLOT 

IF  you  want  to  write  a  short  story, 
and  doubt  if  you  have  anything 
worth  the  telling,  go  to  bed  early 
some  night,  get  up  with  the  sun  the  next 
morning,  and  take  a  long  walk.  Now, 
with  the  smell  of  nature  in  your  nostrils, 
let  your  imagination  run  "as  wild  as  a 
spook  on  a  spree."  Suppose  that  cloud 
up  there  were  an  air-ship,  with  a  kid- 
napper aboard,  and  suppose  the  boy 
who  had  been  stolen  were  the  king  of 
Spain.  Can't  you  work  out  the  details 
of  what  might  happen?  Or  suppose 
that  girl  over  there  should  come  to  you, 
silently  and  mysteriously,  and  place  a 
roll  of  greenbacks  in  your  hand,  with 
the  words,  "To  pay  for  your  burial." 
How  would  it  end?  Or  suppose  you 
stumbled  over  that  bush  there  and 
dropped  into  a  deep  hole,  where  you  lay, 


14  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

far  below  the  surface,  listening  to  the 
drip!  drip!  of  water  near  you.  And  sup- 
pose you  became  thirsty  and  crawled 
nearer  for  a  drink,  and  instead  of  water 
found  a  stream  of  red  blood  gurgling 
among  the  rocks.  Can't  you  make  a 
story  out  of  that? 

All  this  smacks  of  the  sensational,  I 
grant,  but  I  am  going  at  this  theme  in 
a  practical  manner.  I  believe  your  first 
story  will  be  sold  because  of  its  plot. 
Nine  first  stories  out  of  ten  are.  The 
language  is  handled  carelessly,  the  situa- 
tions clumsily,  and  the  development  illog- 
ically.  Yet  the  stories  go  right  into  the 
heart  of  things,  and  are  different  from 
those  of  the  rank  and  file.  So  I  say,  if 
you  want  to  get  into  print,  your  story 
must  have  a  strong  plot. 

Write  love  stories.  "All  the  world 
loves  a  lover,"  and  editors  are  human. 
But  make  your  love  story  one  of  action. 
Don't,  as  many  writers  do,  take  a  man 
and  a  woman  and  a  dozen  meetings  and 
an  engagement,  and  call  it  a  story. 
Make  it  unique,  make  it  worth  while, 
make  it  different  from  the  other  love 


The  Plot  15 


stories  of  yesterday  and  the  day  before. 
Make  it  dramatic;  melodramatic,  if  you 
will.  But  wake  up  your  reader;  startle 
the  editor  and  make  him  read  it  in  spite 
of  himself. 

It  may  interest  you  to  know  that  fully 
three-fourths  of  all  the  stories  submitted 
nowadays  are  rejected  because  of  weak 
or  trite  plot-interest.  In  this  connection, 
the  following  statement,  issued  by  the 
Frank  A.  Munsey  Co.  to  its  contribu- 
tors, is  of  interest: 

"We  want  stories;  not  dialect  sketches, 
not  washed  out  studies  of  effete  human 
nature,  not  weak  tales  of  sickly  senti- 
mentality, not  pretty  writing.  We  want 
fiction  in  which  there  is  a  story — action, 
force,  complications.  Good  writing  is 
as  common  as  clam  shells;  good  stories 
are  as  rare  as  statesmanship.  We  get 
thousands  of  manuscripts,  alleged  stories, 
in  which  the  story  is  not  worth  the  telling, 
meaningless,  flat,  inane;  and  yet  many 
of  these  stories  are  cleverly  told.  They 
lack  merely  one  thing,  and  that  is  the 
story  itself." 

In  this  statement  lies  the  nucleus  of 


16  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 


all  I  would  say.  Your  first  story  is  not 
going  to  be  accepted  because  it  has  the 
grace  and  polish  of  a  master-hand,  but 
because  it  has  something  in  it  worth 
the  telling.  This  does  not  mean  that 
it  must  be  sensational  or  impossible,  by 
any  means,  but  that  it  is  something  out 
of  the  rut,  something  that  has  not  been 
repeated  again  and  again  since  the  be- 
ginning of  time,  something  that  shall 
interest  the  editor  and  make  the  public 
glad  that  it  has  been  written. 

The  prime  requisite  in  the  manufac- 
ture of  all  such  plots  is  imagination. 
You  may  get  your  suggestion  as  you 
will,  in  the  night-time  staring  hard  into 
the  darkness,  from  a  stray  paragraph 
in  a  paper,  from  a  scene  on  the  street, 
or  in  any  other  way;  but  you  must  dress 
it  up,  and  smooth  off  the  corners  that  are 
impossible,  and  the  edges  that  are  not 
to.  be  told,  and  build  up  the  hollow 
places,  all  with  your  imagination. 

Your  plot  must  be  simple  enough  to 
meet  the  requirements  of  a  short  story. 
In  novels  and  in  dramas  there  are  a 
dozen  skeins  to  be  untangled,  and  a 


The  Plot  17 


dozen  joyous  reunions  in  the  last  chap- 
ter, or  just  before  the  curtain  drops. 
The  short  story  should  concern  itself 
with  but  one  of  these  tangles. 

Action  is  the  fundamental  requisite 
of  a  good  plot.  It  transposes  affec- 
tions and  situations  from  what  they 
were  at  the  beginning.  A  good,  selling 
plot  should  bridge  seeming  impossibil- 
ities over  practically  certain  disasters  to 
a  pleasing  end.  It  should  have  unity  of 
time,  place  and  action;  it  should  be 
brief,  compact  and  plausible. 

All  these  qualities  are  the  result  of 
the  molder's  skill.  Let  me  outline  a 
few  methods  of  obtaining  the  raw  ma- 
terial. 

Since  the  origin  of  advice,  writers  have 
been  told  to  search  the  newspapers  for 
plots.  It  is  probable,  indeed,  that  a 
majority  are  secured  through  these  med- 
iums. Sometimes  the  plot  is  the  devel- 
opment of  a  hint  or  suggestion,  some- 
times the  completion  of  an  unfinished 
bit  of  action,  and  sometimes,  more  rarely, 
an  incident  itself,  precisely  as  it  hap- 
pened. 


18  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

Again,  writers  are  told  to  observe  the 
unrecorded  incidents  of  a  busy  world, 
the  everyday  events  of  their  own  lives. 
This  method,  too,  is  responsible  for 
many  good  plots. 

In  spite  of  a  process  for  manufac- 
turing plots,  however,  there  are  many 
writers  who  sit  at  their  desks,  gazing 
blankly  at  the  white  paper  and  praying 
for  inspiration,  which  in  most  cases  in- 
cludes something  to  write  and  the 
thoughts  to  clothe  that  something.  If 
writers  would  only  concede  that  in  many 
instances  inspiration  is  only  another 
name  for  inclination,  there  would  be 
less  praying  of  this  nature. 

Very  naturally  the  voluminous  writer, 
i.  e.,  the  much  inspired  writer,  soon  runs 
short  of  plots.  Here  the  amateur  floun- 
ders; the  experienced  writer  plods  on 
with  scarcely  a  pause.  If  plots  fail  him 
for  the  moment,  he  creates  situations 
that  afford  ample  opportunity  for  dra- 
matic action.  The  man  who  writes  the 
Nick  Carter  weeklies  confesses  that  he 
forces  his  characters  into  some  position 
from  which  escape,  by  all  the  laws  of 


The  Plot  19 

chance,  is  impossible.  Then  he  leans 
back,  presumably  elated  over  his  skill, 
and  for  the  first  time  conceives  some 
method  by  which  the  characters  may 
once  more  acquire  liberty  and  the  privi- 
lege of  more  adventures. 

In  this  method  lies  another  plot  pro- 
ducer. Outline,  in  your  mind,  some 
situation,  improbable,  inconsistent,  in- 
explicable. Then  fit  in  the  characters 
and  incidents  necessary  to  make  it  alto- 
gether probable,  consistent,  explainable. 
Have  the  country  lass,  whom  the  hero 
loves  devoutly,  discover  him  in  her 
father's  chicken-coop  with  a  fat  pullet 
under  his  arm.  There's  material  for  a 
little  love  comedy.  Or  have  the  tourist, 
begging  a  drink  at  the  hermit's  hut,  sud- 
denly cringe  at  his  feet.  There's  ma- 
terial for  a  melodramatic  tale.  Or  have 
a  page  from  a  diary,  telling  of  a  man's 
undying  passion  for  a  woman,  flutter  to 
her  feet  in  some  deserted  place,  prefer- 
ably from  a  balloon,  an  air-ship,  an  ex- 
ploding shell  far  overhead,  or  what  you 
will.  There's  material  for  an  unique 
love  story. 


20  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

It  takes  imagination,  of  course,  to 
work  out  the  logical  explanation;  but 
if  your  intellect  is  not  equal  to  the  task, 
you  have  no  business  in  the  profession 
of  writing  fiction.  And  even  when  you 
have  supplied  your  plot  in  this  fashion, 
and  written  your  story,  it  will  not  be  a 
literary  production.  It  will  be  just  the 
"stuff"  of  a  hack-writer,  just  a  "pot- 
boiler"; but  pot-boilers  sell. 


II 

METHOD  OF  NARRATION 


CHAPTER  II 

METHOD   OF   NARRATION 

NOW  that  you  have  your  plot  well 
in  mind,  you  must  decide  how 
your  story  is  to  be  told.  You 
must  not  go  about  writing  it  in  a  hap- 
hazard, hit-and-miss  fashion,  just  be- 
cause you  have  an  idea. 

First  of  all,  as  I  say,  you  must  decide 
on  the  method  of  narration.  And  right 
here  let  me  set  down  a  few  "don'ts." 

Don't  write  in  the  first  person  till  the 
conceit  of  being  a  mainstay  of  a  story 
is  a  thing  of  the  past.  If  you  persist  in 
being  one  of  the  characters,  just  study 
yourself.  You  will  find  that  in  the  story 
you  are  either  a  conceited  ass  or  a  person 
of  impossible  intelligence.  Telling  a 
story  in  the  first  person  is  open  to  serious 
objections.  Either  you  must  keep  in 
the  background  and  only  guess  at  what 
is  going  on  around  you,  or  else  you  must 


24  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

put  yourself  in  the  middle  of  the  stage, 
where  you  can  see  the  full  action  and 
where  you  will  be  certain  to  indulge  in 
bits  of  moralizing  and  criticising.  In  a 
short  story,  absolutely  every  paragraph, 
and  even  every  sentence,  should  be  an  un- 
folding and  a  development  of  the  plot. 
You  must  not  preach  nor  teach  in  your 
story;  not  even  hint  at  such  things. 

Secondly,  don't  tell  your  story  by  the 
use  of  letters  or  diaries.  It  is  just  as  im- 
possible to  narrate  a  good  story  in  this 
manner  as  it  is  for  an  old  soldier  who 
fought  at  Gettysburg  to  describe  the 
charge  up  San  Juan  Hill.  To  be  nat- 
ural, you  must  bring  in  details  foreign 
to  your  plot,  and  the  story  that  is  not 
sharply  condensed  is  hopeless. 

Thirdly,  don't  allow  an  animal  or 
inanimate  object  to  relate  the  story. 
The  one  argument  against  this  course 
is  that  no  magazine  in  the  country  will 
accept  such  a  story. 

Fourthly,  don't  attempt  dialect  stories. 
Although  they  were  in  vogue  a  few 
years  ago,  there  is  now  no  market  at  all 
for  them. 


Method  of  Narration  25 

Fifthly,  don't  have  a  story  within  a 
story.  All  of  us  have  read  tales  of  a 
railroad  wreck,  where  in  the  course  of 
a  thousand  words  an  injured  man  is 
carried  to  a  farm  house.  Just  when 
you  get  interested,  the  man  rises  up 
in  bed  and  says:  "I  will  now  tell  you 
of  my  past."  And  then  you  find  that 
the  real  story  is  about  to  begin,  and 
that  the  wreck,  and  the  girl  who  ban- 
daged his  head,  and  the  quaint  old 
farmer  really  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  story  proper.  Common  sense  should 
teach  that  this  style  is  to  be  avoided. 

Successful  stories  have  been  written 
along  the  above  lines,  it  is  true,  but  the 
beginner  has  no  right  to  handicap  him- 
self by  using  these  methods. 

The  best  short  stories  have  been 
written  in  the  third  person.  These  are 
far  more  apt  to  be  simple  and  direct, 
free  from  irritating  deviations  from  the 
central  theme,  and  withal  stronger  and 
more  interesting.  You  stand  just  be- 
hind the  curtain,  with  your  hand  on 
your  puppets.  You  observe  from  a  dis- 
tance, and  there  is  no  obtruding  of  your 


26  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

personality.  You  tell  your  story  in  a 
perfectly  natural,  straightforward  man- 
ner, that  is  bound  to  be  a  pleasant  con- 
trast to  the  affected,  slinking  way  of  the 
first  person,  of  the  diaries  or  letters,  or 
of  the  narration  within  narration. 

But  even  in  this  method  there  are  pit- 
falls for  the  unwary.  You  are  apt  to 
believe  yourself  a  regular  magician  be- 
cause you  can  create  people  out  of  noth- 
ingness, and  to  imagine  you  have  a  per- 
fect right  to  put  down  the  innermost 
thoughts  of  all  your  characters.  This 
is  a  wrong  view-point.  In  reality  you 
are  the  mind  of  some  one  of  your  char- 
acters. You  can  write  of  his  actions, 
of  his  likes  and  dislikes,  of  his  thoughts. 
But  there  your  power  ends.  You  must 
not  err  by  putting  down  the  thoughts  of 
all  your  characters.  With  the  single 
exception  of  the  one  whom  you  push  to 
the  foreground,  you  must  make  the 
minds  of  your  people  closed  books.  You 
don't  know  what  they  feel.  You  are 
breathing,  thinking,  living  with  just  one 
person.  You  observe  the  others  as  he 
might. 


Method  of  Narration  27 


These  rules  hold  true,  of  course,  only 
in  the  ideal  short  story;  the  presenting 
of  a  bit  of  real  life,  the  relating  of  an  in- 
cident covering  only  a  brief  period  of 
time. 

No  matter  what  method  of  narration 
you  may  choose,  you  must  make  up 
your  mind  at  the  outset  to  be  simple 
and  direct  in  telling  your  story.  If  you 
try  to  put  style  in  your  work,  it  will  fall 
flat.  After  all,  style  is  more  or  less  of  a 
humbug.  If  your  writing  is  correct, 
and  straight  from  the  heart,  and  you 
put  your  individuality  into  it,  critics  will 
label  your  way  of  telling  things  "style." 

Not  long  ago  Mr.  Frank  A.  Munsey 
said  some  good  things  in  regard  to  this 
quality  to  the  students  of  Yale  Univer- 
sity. 

"The  style  that  means  most,"  he 
averred,  "is  that  which  comes  from  a 
man's  own  soul.  Every  one  who  cuts 
any  figure  in  life  has  his  own  individu- 
ality, and  it  is  this  very  individuality 
that  gives  character  to  style  and  lifts  it 
out  of  the  rut  of  machine-made  stuff. 
No  man  ever  gets  very  far  with  the 


28  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

public  who  squares  his  work  to  the  slant 
of  other  writers. 

"The  best  way  to  tell  your  story  is 
to  plunge  right  into  it,  and  let  the  at- 
mosphere take  care  of  itself,  which  it 
is  sure  to  do  in  good  time.  The  closer 
you  can  write  to  the  way  you  talk,  the 
closer  you  will  come  to  interesting  the 
reader  and  attaining  a  good  literary 
style." 

Charles  Darwin  once  said  to  a  young 
writer: 

"Do  not  despair  about  your  style.  I 
never  study  style;  all  that  I  do  is  to  try 
to  get  the  subject  as  clear  as  I  can  in 
my  own  head,  and  express  it  in  the 
commonest  language  which  occurs  to 
me.  But  I  generally  have  to  think  a 
good  deal  before  the  simplest  arrange- 
ment of  words  occurs  to  me.  It  is  a 
golden  rule  always  to  use,  if  possible,  a 
short  old  Saxon  word.  Such  a  sentence 
as  'so  purely  dependent  is  the  incipient 
plant  on  the  specific  morphological  ten- 
dency' does  not  sound  to  my  ears  like 
good  mother  English — it  wants  trans- 
lating." 


Method  of  Narration  29 


I  think  there  is  nothing  to  add  to  the 
foregoing,  except  that  style  is  largely  a 
quality  that  comes  only  after  much  prac- 
tice in  writing.  A  beginner  apes  those 
who  have  gone  before,  and  as  soon  as 
he  learns  that  in  his  own  individuality 
lies  the  only  style  he  can  hope  to  acquire, 
he  is  on  the  high  road  to  success  in  litera- 
ture. He  must  learn  to  be  himself;  to 
make  his  writing,  not  affected,  but  na- 
tural. When  he  fully  comprehends  this 
fact,  and  begins  to  profit  by  it,  he  sets 
about  cultivating  style. 


THE  INTRODUCTION 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    INTRODUCTION 

A  STORY  well  begun  is  half  told. 
Unless  you  can  interest  an  editor 
in  your  first  two  or  three  para- 
graphs, your  story  may  be  submitted  to 
every  periodical  in  the  country  without 
the  slightest  chance  of  acceptance. 

So  much  depends  on  the  introductory 
sentences,  from  the  viewpoint  of  the 
editor,  that  fully  three-fourths  of  the 
stories  submitted  are  never  read  beyond 
the  first  page.  If  they  are  lacking  in  in- 
terest here,  the  editor  realizes  that  the 
writer  knows  nothing  about  the  funda- 
mental principles  of  story-writing,  and 
that  what  follows  is  practically  certain 
to  violate  all  its  rules.  Unless  the  be- 
ginning interests  him,  therefore,  he  re- 
jects the  manuscript  promptly  without 
further  reading. 

An  editor's  method  of  determining 
the  value  of  a  manuscript  is  very  simple. 


34  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 


He  scans  the  introductory  paragraph, 
and  if  he  finds  that  the  writer  plunges 
into  his  story  at  the  very  outset  he  is  in- 
terested enough  to  skim  over  the  entire 
first  page.  If  nothing  is  found  that 
condemns  the  story,  the  editor  now  turns 
to  the  last  page  and  studies  the  con- 
clusion. If  he  finds  this  weak,  the  story 
is  returned  without  further  reading;  but 
if  it  ends  with  a  quick,  sharp  turn,  or  in 
a  manner  that  suggests  rapid  dramatic 
action  somewhere  earlier  in  the  story,  he 
dips  into  the  middle  and  glances  over 
the  other  pages;  not  systematically,  but 
in  a  hop- skip- and- jump  manner.  Then, 
if  the  first  promise  is  fulfilled,  he  leans 
back  and  reads  the  story  clear  through. 
If  he  does  this,  the  chances  are  all  in 
favor  of  an  acceptance,  though  some 
detail  may  still  warrant  a  rejection;  or, 
possibly,  the  tenor  of  the  story  may  not 
be  in  line  with  his  publication. 

From  the  foregoing  it  will  be  seen 
that  if  you  expect  even  a  careful  ex- 
amination of  your  story,  you  must  in- 
terest the  editor  at  once.  You  cannot 
do  this  with  a  long  description.  You 


The  Introduction  35 

cannot  do  it  by  labeling  your  charac- 
ters, in  imitation  of  a  theater  pro- 
gramme. You  cannot  do  it  by  present- 
ing familiar  and  worn-out  situations. 

Ninety  per  cent,  of  the  "  unavailable " 
stories  have  one  of  these  faults  in  their 
introduction.  A  good  majority  of  those 
that  are  accepted  begin  with  conver- 
sation that  arouses  interest,  or  striking 
sentences  that  make  the  reader  anxious 
enough  for  an  explanation  to  read 
further. 

Your  first  sentence  should  plunge 
your  reader  into  the  action  of  your  story. 
Leave  your  descriptions  until  you  have 
interested  him;  then  what  would  have 
bored  him  at  first  will  prove  only  a  pleas- 
ing explanation  of  the  situation.  In  the 
ideal  short  story,  the  descriptions  are 
sifted  in  so  adroitly  that  there  is  no  lag- 
ging of  movement. 

Don't  begin  your  story  by  having  a 
beautiful  maiden  wondering  if  her  lover 
is  true.  Don't  begin  by  saying  that  the 
heroine,  dressed  in  well-fitting  clothes, 
makes  a  handsome  picture.  Don't  be- 
gin by  presenting  a  girl  who  is  review- 


36  flow  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

ing  her  past  life.  All  these  have  been 
done  time  and  time  again.  Strive  for 
originality  if  you  would  write  acceptable 
stories. 

Why  not  have  the  girl  watching  her 
faithless  lover,  ten  miles  away,  through 
a  telescope?  Why  not  have  the  hero- 
ine dressed  in  brightest  crimson  and 
living  in  a  convent?  Why  not  have  the 
girl  wondering  if  the  man  she  just 
pushed  in  the  cistern  is  dead?  All  these 
are  far-fetched  and  extravagant,  I  ad- 
mit, but  they  illustrate  the  point  I  would 
make:  that  you  must  begin  your  story 
in  a  manner  novel  and  original. 

A  goodly  number  of  the  light  little 
love  stories  of  to-day  need  no  setting 
beyond  that  suggested  by  the  conversa- 
tion. It  is  pure  idiocy  to  dilate  upon 
the  beauty  of  the  scene,  or  the  charm  of 
the  weather,  or  the  innermost  feelings 
of  the  characters.  If  you  must  get  these 
points  into  your  story,  do  it  by  sugges- 
tion. Make  the  man  and  woman  so 
thoroughly  in  love  with  each  other,  that 
neither  you  nor  a  master-hand  can  keep 
your  reader  from  knowing  that  the 


The  introduction  37 


scenery  is  magnificent,  nor  that  the  sun 
is  shining  its  brightest,  nor  that  every 
sentence  your  lovers  utter  is  bubbling 
with  sentiment.  If  you  can't  get  this 
happiness  into  your  love  story,  you  have 
failed.  Tear  it  up  and  write  it  all  over. 

Did  you  ever  study  Hope's  "Dolly 
Dialogues"?  If  so,  you  have  found 
that,  although  there  is  no  direct  infor- 
mation given  or  scenes  described,  you 
are  in  full  possession  of  all  the  neces- 
sary facts,  gleaned  through  the  words 
and  actions  of  the  characters.  Yet  the 
stories  start  abruptly  and  go  forward 
in  a  natural  sequence  of  events. 

It  is  the  best  practice  in  the  world  to 
write  a  story  without  the  use  of  any 
method  of  presenting  ideas  except  di- 
rect discourse. 

There  are  times,  of  course,  when  a 
description  of  the  setting  of  your  story 
is  absolutely  necessary.  Suppose  you 
wished  to  say  that  a  man  who  had  been 
away  for  years  from  a  girl  he  loved  was 
approaching  her  house,  a  great  stone 
structure  high  on  a  hill.  You  might  fol- 
low the  beginner's  example,  thus: 


38  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

"The  house  of  Dorothy  Owens  was 
a  magnificent  stone  mansion,  beautiful 
inside  and  out.  It  stood  on  a  high  hill. 
But,  in  spite  of  its  beauty,  Dorothy  was 
not  happy.  Years  before  she  had  had 
a  lover,  who,  could  she  but  have  known 
it,  was  even  now  approaching  the  house, 
mounted  on  a  mettlesome  steed." 

Your  ear  tells  you  that  this  is  trite 
and  dull.  There  is  no  reason  to  go  on 
reading;  no  promise  of  anything  better. 
Would  it  not  be  more  interesting  if  be- 
gun a  little  differently?  For  instance : 

"The  horse  stopped  suddenly,  and  the 
man  lifted  his  head  with  a  jerk.  For 
the  last  mile  he  had  been  sitting  in  the 
saddle,  not  caring  whom  he  met,  not 
seeing.  Now  he  looked  ahead  at  the 
road  that  led  straight  up  the  hill  to  a 
house  that  stood  on  the  summit.  For 
a  moment  he  stared  at  it,  debating  with 
himself.  Then  he  smiled  and  dug  his 
spurs  into  the  horse." 

The  one  objection  to  this  latter  method 
is  the  necessity  of  saying,  more  or  less 
bluntly:  "But  I  must  now  explain 
that  years  before  this  man  and  woman 


The  Introduction  39 

had  been  lovers."  Now,  above  all  else, 
a  short  story  should  possess  unity.  With 
this  quality  of  paramount  importance, 
any  retrospection  is  apt  to  mar  the  ar- 
tistic handling.  But  even  this  objec- 
tion may  be  overcome  by  the  use  of  sug- 
gestive conversation  that  gives  the  reader 
enough  of  a  clue  to  enable  him  to  under- 
stand the  situation. 

Remember,  then,  that  readers  are  a 
busy  people,  who  would  have  their  sto- 
ries served  in  condensed  pellets  if  they 
could,  and  that  to  win  their  approbation 
you  must  begin  well  along  in  your  tale, 
where  enough  complications  are  to  be 
found  to  catch  the  interest.  In  writing, 
as  nowhere  else,  can  be  seen  the  truth 
of  the  trite  old  proverb,  "Well  begun  is 
half  done." 


IV 
THE  STORY  PROPER 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   STORY   PROPER 

THE  ideal  short  story  is  the  rela- 
tion of  an  isolated  incident.  In 
a  novel  you  may  introduce  your 
heroine  in  one  chapter  and  your  hero  in 
another,  and  then  shift  scenes  and  sea- 
sons with  bewildering  rapidity  to  the 
very  end.  There  is  a  runaway,  perhaps, 
in  which  the  man  saves  the  girl's  life. 
There  is  a  forest  in  which  the  lovers  get 
lost  together.  There  is  an  automobile 
wreck  that  drives  them  to  a  farmer's 
house  for  supper.  But  each  of  these 
leads  up  to  the  climax — the  inevitable 
marriage  of  the  two. 

Now,  any  one  of  these  counter-inci- 
dents would  make  a  short  story,  but 
all  of  them  together  lack  the  fundamen- 
tal requisite  of  brief  fiction — unity.  The 
ideal  short  story  begins  in  one  place  and 
ends  in  that  place.  It  begins  with  a 
certain  number  of  characters  and  ends 


44  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

with  that  number.  It  is  an  incident  by 
itself,  isolated  from  the  other  happen- 
ings of  everyday  life. 

It  may  be  any  length,  provided  it  is 
not  too  ungainly  to  crowd  between  the 
covers  of  a  magazine,  or  too  tiny  to  de- 
mand a  place  at  all.  Generally  speak- 
ing, a  short  story  should  run  between 
1,000  and  6,000  words. 

Length,  of  course,  is  largely  a  matter 
of  demand  rather  than  of  choice.  You 
can't  tell  some  stories  in  less  than  5,000 
words  without  condensing  them  so 
sharply  as  to  destroy  utterly  their  charm, 
and  you  can't  stretch  others  above  1,500 
words  without  padding  them  unduly. 
As  in  all  other  things,  the  ones  that  do 
not  come  close  to  either  extreme  are 
most  apt  to  prove  acceptable. 

Whatever  the  length,  the  ideal  short 
story  is  one  complete  chapter.  Above 
all  else,  it  is  a  unit;  and  any  plot  that 
necessitates  chapter  divisions  is  faulty 
and  had  better  be  discarded. 

Many  of  the  stories  that  are  sliced  up 
in  this  fashion  by  beginners,  however, 
really  possess  unity.  The  divisions  are 


The  Story  Proper  45 

false,  and  are  the  result  of  the  writer's 
idea  that  they  make  his  story  more  pre- 
sentable. The  scene  may  be  the  same 
and  no  interruption  to  the  action  have 
taken  place. 

Young  writers  have  a  habit  of  using 
a  series  of  stars  or  dashes  to  indicate  the 
lapse  of  time  in  their  stories.  There 
is  no  reason  for  this,  other  than  that 
the  plot  is  wrongly  constructed  or  that 
the  writers  err  flatly.  The  craze  for 
chapter  divisions  is  a  senseless  one,  and 
comes  from  a  study  of  the  novel. 

Perhaps  the  most  common  error  of 
the  young  writer  is  the  unconscious  pad- 
ding by  the  use  of  remarks,  comments, 
stray  bits  of  information,  or  morals  en- 
tirely foreign  to  the  plot.  Thejgroper 
way  to  tell  a  short  story  is  to  draw  a  line 
"from  the  striking  introductory  sentence 
'straight  to  the  climax,  and  never,  by  a 
hair's  breadth,  deviate  from  that  line. 
Remarks  and  comments  are  for  the  edi- 
torial, information  for  the  essay  and 
scientific  article,  and  morals  for  the  re- 
ligious article.  A  salable  short  story  is 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  good  plot 


46  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

draped  enough  to  soften  the  naked 
crudities  without  hiding  the  general 
beauty  of  form. 

No  two  stories  are  alike  in  structure. 
For  this  reason,  it  is  impossible  to  give 
specific  advice  as  to  the  telling.  But  if 
you  have  something  with  a  laugh,  a  tear, 
or  a  thrill,  and  go  about  presenting  it  in 
a  straightforward,  natural  manner,  with- 
out hurrying  or  lagging  overmuch,  you 
are  pretty  sure  to  produce  a  story  that 
will  sell. 

It  seems  to  be  the  fate  of  most  writers 
to  have  a  tendency  either  to  take  up  a 
great  deal  too  much  time  in  telling  their 
story,  or  to  do  it  admirably  nearly  to  the 
end  and  then  seemingly  to  tire  and  hurry 
through  to  the  climax.  You  will  find, 
most  likely,  that  in  writing  a  story  you 
have  a  habit  of  completing  it  in  1,000 
words,  or  even  less,  or  else  taking  five  or 
six  times  that  many.  In  either  case,  you 
can  easily  discover  your  weakness  and 
strive  to  correct  it. 

After  you  have  acquired  a  little  ease 
in  your  composition,  you  will  find  that 
there  are  a  dozen  ways  of  telling  the  same 


The  Story  Proper  47 

story,  and  that  your  way  is  apt  to  be  the 
one  that  comes  to  you  most  easily. 

Now,  it  may  be  worth  while,  finan- 
cially, to  try  an  experiment.  After  you 
have  your  plot  well  in  mind,  pick  up 
some  magazine  and  study  the  structure 
of  its  predominating  stories.  Then 
adapt  your  style  to  that  of  the  magazine, 
and  write  your  story  with  the  idea  that 
it  must  follow  precisely  the  model  you 
have  chosen.  It  seems  to  me  that  in 
this  way  you  have  a  story  exactly  fitted 
to  a  certain  line  of  publications  rather 
than  one  adapted,  almost,  to  anything 
published. 

You  will  find,  however,  that  on  at 
least  one  point  all  editors  are  agreed; 
that  is,  that  conversation  is  always  pref- 
erable to  description.  It  is  a  good  plan 
to  go  through  a  completed  story  and 
substitute  the  former  for  the  latter  wher- 
ever possible.  I  think  I  can  offer  no 
more  forcible  advice  than  that  of  the 
writer  who  said:  "It  is  not  necessary 
to  say  that  a  woman  is  a  snarling, 
grumpy  person.  Bring  in  the  old  lady 
and  let  her  snarl." 


48  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 


But  no  matter  how  you  tell  your  story, 
it  must  follow  the  general  rule  of  leading 
up  to  a  climax.  In  its  broadest  sense, 
this  may  be  illustrated  by  recalling  a 
good  detective  or  mystery  story.  It  is 
this  very  thing  that  makes  the  poorly 
educated  read  stories;  the  very  thing 
that  makes  some  people  turn  to  the  last 
chapter  in  a  book  before  reading  the 
others;  the  very  thing  that  makes  a  child 
urge  you  to  go  on  and  on  in  telling  a 
story — merely  the  desire  to  see  how  it  all 
comes  out,  to  know  why  this  character 
did  that  and  that  one  this,  all  through 
the  narrative.  It  is  really  inborn  curi- 
osity, and  if  a  story  did  not  hold  out  the 
promise  of  a  denouement  or  climax  very 
few  would  read  it. 

In  writing  your  story,  therefore,  you 
must  keep  this  always  in  mind.  Little 
suggestions  whet  the  reader's  appetite 
and  make  him  eager  to  go  on.  These, 
however,  should  not  be  broad.  "  Little 
did  she  think  that  ere  the  setting  of  an- 
other sun  a  great  calamity  would  be 
upon  them."  This  method  lacks  deli- 
cacy and  is  certain  to  create  disgust. 


The  Story  Proper  49 

Strike  out  along  new  lines,  that  your 
reader  may  never  guess  how  the  story  is 
to  end,  and  then  lead  him  on,  step  by 
step,  till  the  climax  comes,  sharp  and 
clear,  like  the  snap  of  a  whip. 


V 
CONCLUSION  AND  CLIMAX 


CHAPTER  V 

CONCLUSION   AND   CLIMAX 

WHEN  your  story  is  ended,  stop. 
Don't  ramble  on  and  tell  how 
the  man  built  a  magnificent 
home  and  how  the  two  turtle  doves  lived 
there  for  years  and  years.  Lead  your 
reader  up  to  the  engagement  and  drop 
the  curtain  abruptly  on  the  scene  of  bliss. 
The  chances  are  that  later  a  flurry  in 
stocks  swallowed  up  all  the  man's  wealth 
and  that  the  white  hands  of  the  girl 
turned  brown  and  chapped  over  the 
wash  board.  But  if  you  stop  at  the 
proper  place,  your  reader  will  never 
think  of  the  possibility  of  such  things. 

If  you  tack  on  a  remark  after  your 
story  is  ended,  it  will  ruin  it  all.  Ama- 
teurs have  a  habit  of  closing  a  love  story 
something  like  this: 

"She  looked  up  at  him,  with  the  love 


54  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

light  in  her  eyes,  and  said,  ever  so  softly, 
'Yes.'  Then  he  put  his  arms  around 
her,  and  drew  her  close,  and  pressed  kiss 
after  kiss  on  her  eager  lips.  And  finally, 
just  at  twilight,  the  two  walked  back  to 
the  village,  busily  planning  a  little  cot- 
tage for  the  future." 

Now,  properly  this  story  ends  with 
the  word  "Yes."  What  follows  is  anti- 
climax, and  is  the  kind  of  writing  that 
has  given  rise  to  the  phrase,  "sickly  sen- 
timentality." 

In  the  story  suggested  by  the  fore- 
going conclusions,  all  the  ideas  are  cen- 
tered on  the  winning  of  the  girl's  hand. 
Earlier  in  the  tale,  perhaps,  there  has 
been  another  lover,  and  complications 
and  desperate  moves.  Everything  has 
led  up  to  the  proposal  and  acceptance. 
All  through,  the  reader  has  seen  what 
is  coming,  and  has  hoped  and  feared 
with  the  hero.  The  conclusion  of  all 
this  has  been  the  single  word,  "Yes." 
This,  then,  is  the  climax. 

Let  us  look  for  a  moment  at  what 
this  climax  accomplishes.  First,  it  ends 
definitely  the  element  of  suspense.  Sec- 


Conclusion  and  Climax  55 


ondly,  it  decides  the  destinies  of  the 
characters.  Thirdly,  it  is  the  severing 
of  all  connection  with  the  plot.  Fourthly, 
it  is  a  logical  explanation  of  the  cause 
of  all  the  previous  action.  Fifthly,  it  is 
really  the  point  of  the  whole  story.  It 
may  be  said,  therefore,  to  fulfill  all  the 
requirements. 

A  climax  should  never  drag.  It 
should  come  clear  and  sharp,  like  the 
snap  of  a  whip.  You  should  then  be 
able  to  finish  your  story  before  the  sound 
has  died  out,  before  the  impression  it 
leaves  has  been  counterbalanced  by 
tedious  and  dull  explanations. 

The  climax  in  what  is  known  as  the 
"  surprise  story "  is  invariably  false. 
Though  it  may  amuse,  it  does  so  through 
the  ingenuity  of  the  writer  rather  than 
through  a  logical  appeal  to  the  sensi- 
bilities. It  is  clever,  but  not  artistic,  to 
write  that  a  man  followed  you  home 
one  night,  and  slunk  in  the  shadows 
when  you  stopped,  and  that  he  ran 
toward  you  suddenly,  at  your  doorstep, 
and  you  saw — only  your  Newfoundland 
dog;  or  that  after  smoking  the  drugged 


56  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

cigar,  and  allowing  the  pocketbook  to 
slip  to  the  floor  as  you  became  uncon- 
scious, you — suddenly  awoke  and  found 
it  was  all  a  dream;  or  that  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  by  some  intuitive  process, 
you  felt  certain  that  some  assailant  near 
at  hand  was  about  to  murder  you  in  cold 
blood,  and  that  you  lay  there  quivering 
— until  you  fell  asleep  and  woke  the  next 
morning  to  laugh  over  your  active  im- 
agination. The  climax  in  all  these 
stories  is  false,  and  will  not  pass  muster 
with  a  critical  editor. 

The  single  good  point  about  this  class 
is  that  its  stories  seldom  deal  with  real 
tragedy.  In  spite  of  all  the  hue  and  cry 
for  realistic  fiction,  it  is  the  stories  with 
happy  endings  that  sell.  True,  the  best 
magazines  give  space  to  tragic  stories, 
but  they  do  it,  not  because  tragedy  ap- 
peals to  them,  but  because  the  telling  is 
too  artistic  to  risk  rejection;  in  other 
words,  the  manner  overbalances  the 
matter.  But  these  stories  are  written 
by  experienced  authors,  whose  positions 
are  secure.  The  beginner  should  shun 
the  sad  ending. 


Conclusion  and  Climax  57 

The  true  story  should  also  be  avoided. 
Here,  again,  it  is  the  conclusion  that 
causes  a  good  share  of  the  trouble.  In 
real  life,  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  find 
a  narrative  that  ends  as  you  and  the 
editor  would  wish.  To  make  it  artistic 
at  all,  you  must  put  in  a  generous  sea- 
soning of  the  untrue  and  transform  the 
climax  altogether. 

The  conclusion  of  any  story  is  worthy 
of  the  very  best  efforts  of  a  writer.  It 
is  really  the  story  itself,  for  it  embraces 
the  climax,  or  culmination  of  the  plot. 
Nine  times  out  of  ten,  your  whole  story 
may  be  discovered  by  reading  your  last 
paragraph  or  two.  It  takes  but  a  glance 
at  this  point  to  indicate  its  nature. 

If  you  will  keep  always  in  mind  the 
fact  that  the  editor  studies  your  con- 
clusions to  see  whether  the  story  proper 
is  worth  an  examination,  it  is  probable 
that  you  will  see  to  it  that  this  part  has 
merit.  It  is  the  conclusion,  remember, 
that  leaves  the  taste  in  the  reader's 
mouth,  and  makes  him  decide  whether 
or  not  the  story  is  worth  while.  If  you 
end  tritely,  he  will  characterize  your 


58  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

whole  composition  as  trite;  if  you  round 
off  your  story  artistically,  he  will  be  apt 
to  consider  all  that  has  gone  before  as 
artistic. 


VI 
THE  PREPARATION  OF  MANUSCRIPT 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   PREPARATION   OF   MANUSCRIPT 

WHEN  you  have  expended  your 
best  energies  on  your  story, 
and  by  careful  revision  have 
brought  it  to  the  highest  degree  of  ex- 
cellence of  which  you  are  capable,  it  is 
ready  to  be  dressed  up  in  a  fetching 
manner  for  the  editorial  eye.  You 
must  now  recopy  it  in  such  a  way  that 
no  mark  of  your  workmanship  in  re- 
casting and  reconstructing  will  show. 
Fine  clothes  do  not  make  an  acceptance, 
any  more  than  they  make  a  gentleman, 
but  they  command  respect  in  both  cases. 
First  of  all,  your  manuscript  should 
be  neatly  and  correctly  typewritten.  I 
don't  care  how  legibly  you  may  write, 
you  can't  compare  with  the  printed  let- 
ters of  the  machine.  Moreover,  you 
are  stringing  a  thousand- word  story  over 
great  pads  of  paper,  when  you  might 
print  it  on  four  thin  sheets.  An  editor's 


62  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

time  is  economized  as  much  as  possible, 
and  he  will  run  through  three  type- 
written stories  sooner  than  plod  through 
one  penscript.  He  knows,  furthermore, 
that  the  careful,  experienced  writer  will 
send  him  type  copy,  and  that  the  chances 
are  ten  to  one  that  the  script  is  full  of 
blunders  and  errors  common  to  the  be- 
ginner, who  has  never  studied  the  sub- 
ject of  writing.  Penscripts  are  signs  of 
inexperience.  Editors  appreciate  this 
fact,  and  the  sooner  young  writers  do, 
the  better  will  be  their  chances  of  suc- 
cess in  literature. 

In  typewriting  a  manuscript,  it  should 
be  doubly  spaced.  This  is  done  for  two 
reasons.  First,  it  is  much  easier  on  the 
eyes  if  the  lines  are  not  close  together. 
Munsey  is  said  to  get  three  thousand 
manuscripts  each  month.  Of  course, 
these  are  handled  by  a  great  many  read- 
ers for  the  company,  but  at  the  same 
time  one  man  has  to  read  a  large  number 
of  them.  The  strain  on  the  eyes  will  be 
readily  apparent,  and  the  thoughtful- 
ness  of  the  writer  who  seeks  to  make 
easier  the  task  by  double  spacing  his 


The  Preparation  of  Manuscript          63 

work  will  be  appreciated.  Again,  if  a 
manuscript  can  be  made  acceptable  by 
changing  it  somewhat,  the  space  between 
the  lines  gives  plenty  of  room  for  cor- 
rection. Nothing  that  will  serve  to 
lessen  the  work  of  an  editor  should  be 
left  undone. 

Now  that  the  story  is  typewritten,  the 
name  and  address  should  be  added  in 
the  upper,  left-hand  corner.  It  is  much 
better  to  do  this  with  the  machine  than 
with  a  pen,  as  most  people  write  their 
names  so  hurriedly  that  it  is  almost  im- 
possible to  decipher  them.  It  seems  to 
me  that  there  is  no  reason  for  a  signature 
on  the  manuscript,  though  some  disa- 
gree on  this  point.  At  all  events,  it  is 
imperative  that  the  name  and  address, 
in  some  form,  be  on  the  first  page. 

The  number  of  words  should  now  be 
estimated  and  placed  in  the  upper  right- 
hand  corner.  This  estimate  need  not 
be  exact;  indeed  it  is  foolish  to  say  the 
manuscript  contains  3,449  words,  or  any 
other  precise  number.  It  should,  how- 
ever, be  fairly  accurate.  Count  the 
number  of  words  in  the  average  line, 


64  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

the  number  of  lines  on  a  page,  and  the 
number  of  pages.  No  allowance  should 
be  made  for  short  lines.  In  this  way, 
it  is  easy  to  get  the  approximate  length 
of  the  story.  The  editor  will  appre- 
ciate this  courtesy,  as  it  enables  him  to 
tell  at  a  glance  the  amount  of  space  the 
story  would  occupy  in  his  magazine. 

The  top  of  the  first  page  of  your  man- 
uscript will  now  appear  something  like 
this: 


J.  D.  Banner,  3>5°°  words. 

Blank  City,  N.  Y. 
THE  REVOLT  OF  UNCLE  JOHN. 

By 
JAMES  DARKEN  BANNER 

Just  beneath  the  title  of  the  story 
should  be  placed  the  name  of  the  au- 
thor as  he  wishes  it  to  appear  in  print. 
If  he  is  writing  under  a  nom-de- plume, 
an  affectation  countenanced  neither  by 
good  sense  nor  good  business  ability,  it 
should  be  placed  here. 

A  soiled  manuscript  tells  its  own  story 
of  previous  rejections,  and  invites  others. 


The  Preparation  of  Manuscript          65 

"You  are  not  taking  an  unfair  advan- 
tage of  an  editor,"  says  Albert  Bigelow 
Paine,  "  when  you  renovate  your  much- 
traveled  manuscript,  or  recopy  it  on 
clean  paper.  You  are  taking  an  unfair 
advantage  of  your  manuscript  when  you 
do  not  do  it,  and  you  are  insulting  the 
editor,  who  does  not  care  where  your 
story  or  article  or  poem  has  been,  so  long 
as  it  is  presented  to  him  invitingly." 

The  paper  on  which  the  story  is  cop- 
ied should  be  of  good  texture,  light  in 
weight,  but  not  transparent.  A  size 
about  8J  by  n,  folded  twice,  has  a 
great  many  advantages.  Never  fasten 
the  sheets  of  your  manuscript  together 
in  any  way.  They  should  be  loose,  to 
be  shuffled  as  the  editor  finds  need. 
Two  sizes  of  envelopes  should  be  pur- 
chased, one  to  fit  within  the  other  with- 
out folding.  A  stamped,  self  addressed 
envelope  should  accompany  every  manu- , 
script. 

If  the  name  and  address  of  the  writer 
are  on  the  first  page,  no  explanatory 
note  is  necessary.  As  a  matter  of  cour- 
tesy, however,  a  very  brief  one  may  be 


66  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

sent.     It  should  be  somewhat  along  the 
following  lines: 

Editor,  Blank  Magazine, 

New  York  City. 
Dear  Sir: 

The  enclosed  manuscript  is  submitted  with 
the  hope  that  it  may  be  found  available  for 
publication  in  The  Blank  Magazine,  at  your 
usual  rates. 

Never  display  your  lack  of  common 
sense  by  any  of  the  petty  little  tricks 
common  to  the  writers  who  believe  their 
manuscripts  are  not  read.  If  an  editor 
finds  the  sheets  of  your  story  lightly 
gummed  together,  he  will  not  take  the 
trouble  to  separate  them.  Neither  will 
he  sort  out  pages  not  properly  numbered. 
He  cannot  afford  to  waste  time  on  writers 
who  stoop  to  such  detestable  actions. 
He  knows  they  will  never  be  able  to 
please  him  with  their  work. 

Your  manuscript  will  be  read  if  it  is 
worth  while  and  properly  prepared.  If 
your  first  page  is  dull,  your  second  may 
never  be  read.  But  if  you  have  good 
material,  served  up  in  such  a  way  that 
the  reading  is  more  of  a  pleasure  than 
a  task,  your  manuscript  will  be  con- 


The  Preparation  of  Manuscript         67 

sidered  on  its  merits,  whether  it  is  signed 
by  Rudyard  Kipling  or  by  John  Brown. 
I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  reading 
manuscripts  by  such  writers  as  Jack 
London,  Albert  Bigelow  Paine,  Charles 
Battell  Loomis,  and  a  great  many  of 
the  best  authors  of  the  day;  and  I  say 
unhesitatingly  that  their  copy,  without 
exception,  was  the  neatest  and  most 
correct  that  ever  came  under  my  eye. 
These  men  have  won  their  positions  in 
current  literature  by  pure  merit,  and 
their  example  in  the  preparation  of  copy 
is  worth  following. 


VII 
THE  PLACING  OF  THE  STORY 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   PLACING   OF   THE   STORY 

I  RANK  the  ability  to  sell  a  story 
nearly  as  high  as  the  ability  to 
write  one.  Unless  you  can  dis- 
pose of  your  manuscript,  after  you  have 
spent  hours  over  it,  your  work  counts  for 
nothing.  I  have  seen  a  great  many 
young  writers,  some  of  pronounced  abil- 
ity, who  have  given  up  the  literary  pro- 
fession because  they  were  unable  to  sell 
their  work.  For  this  reason,  I  say  that 
the  selling  is  well  nigh  as  important  as 
the  writing. 

To  place  a  story  to  good  advantage, 
you  must  know  the  market  through  and 
through.  It  is  not  enough  to  know  that 
the  leading  ten-cent  magazines  use  love 
stories.  You  must  know  wherein  those 
found  in  McClure's  differ  from  those  in 
Munsey's,  in  Everybody's,  in  The  Cos- 
mopolitan, in  every  other  magazine  that 


72  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

has  a  personality.  You  must  know  the 
shades  of  difference  that  separate  The 
Youth's  Companion  and  St.  Nicholas; 
Harper's,  and  The  Smart  Set;  The  Wom- 
an's Home  Companion  and  The  Ladies' 
Home  Journal.  When  you  begin  to  de- 
tect the  points  in  which  the  editorial 
needs  and  whims  differ,  you  are  in  a  po- 
sition to  become  acquainted  with  the 
literary  market. 

If  you  write  stories,  it  is  your  business 
to  make  a  systematic  and  thorough 
study  of  magazines  that  use  short  fiction. 
You  must  learn  to  note  whether  action, 
complications,  character  drawing,  style, 
humor,  or  any  one  of  a  dozen  other 
qualities  is  responsible  for  the  accept- 
ance and  publication  of  every  story  you 
read.  If  you  find  stories  that  lack  plot 
altogether,  you  must  discover  what  fea- 
ture takes  its  place.  It  is  only  in  this 
way  that  you  can  become  fully  ac- 
quainted with  the  magazines. 

Too  many  young  writers  consider  the 
ease  with  which  a  story  may  be  written, 
rather  than  its  adaptability  for  any  mag- 
azine. A  great  number  of  students  in 


The  Placing  of  the  Story  73 

high  schools  and  colleges  write  fiction 
which  is  praised  by  classmates  and 
teachers,  and  which  may  really  be  good 
from  an  artistic  standpoint,  but  which 
is  entirely  out  of  line  with  the  needs  of 
any  magazine.  I  have  seen  stories  that 
were  offered  to  such  publications  as 
The  Youth's  Companion  and  St.  Nicho- 
las, in  which  the  boys  played  pranks 
that  would  shock  the  good  mothers 
and  fathers  of  proper  children.  These 
stories  were  about  boys,  however,  and 
for  this  reason  their  writers  imagined 
them  fitted  for  the  publications  to  which 
they  were  sent.  They  had  absolutely 
no  chance  of  acceptance,  and  a  study 
of  the  magazines  would  have  shown  the 
folly  of  submitting  such  manuscripts. 

Not  only  must  you  know  the  market 
but  you  must  know  your  own  work. 
You  must  be  able  to  distinguish  between 
a  story  adapted  to  Harper's  and  The 
Century,  and  one  that  is  fit  only  for  the 
newspapers  and  syndicates.  You  must 
judge  your  own  work  honestly  and  with- 
out prejudice. 

A  story  fresh  from  your  brain  will 


74  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

sound  better  than  one  that  has  been  laid 
aside  for  a  day  or  two.  You  will  be 
able  to  pass  upon  its  merits  more  im- 
partially if  you  put  it  away  until  your 
enthusiasm  cools.  You  will  also  find 
that  it  is  good  practice  to  read  your 
stories  aloud  to  some  other  person  before 
you  submit  them  to  any  magazine.  The 
defects  and  crude  portions  will  become 
discernible  in  a  way  they  never  would 
otherwise,  particularly  if  your  hearer  is 
capable  of  criticising. 

A  good  critic  is  of  inestimable  value. 
I  would  rather  have  an  unbiased,  hon- 
est opinion  of  my  story,  from  some  one 
who  was  capable  of  judging  it,  than  all 
the  praise  in  the  world.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  the  friends  who  laud  your  work 
usually  do  not  appreciate  either  the  de- 
fects or  the  merits.  An  unprejudiced 
criticism  of  your  story  will  benefit  you 
more  than  anything  else  in  this  matter 
of  choosing  a  market. 

The  question  of  timeliness  is  one  that 
should  be  studied.  A  story  that  fits  the 
season  has  a  much  better  chance  of  ac- 
ceptance than  one  which  may  be  used 


The  Placing  of  the  Story  75 

at  any  time  and  is  of  equal  literary  value. 
Readers  expect  a  Christmas  story  in  the 
December  magazine,  an  Independence 
Day  story  in  the  July  number,  and  sea- 
sonable fiction  at  all  times.  A  great 
many  writers  overlook  this  fact  alto- 
gether. Christmas  stories  are  usually 
weak  in  plot;  they  have  been  done  with 
a  regularity  that  has  exhausted  all  ideas. 
A  fairly  original  Yule-tide  story,  offered 
during  the  summer  months,  or  a  good 
Fourth  of  July  tale,  submitted  during  the 
first  quarter  of  the  year,  stands  a  very 
good  chance  of  acceptance.  If  you  will 
remember  that  stories  should  be  sub- 
mitted from  three  to  six  months  before 
the  issue  of  the  magazine  in  which  they 
should  appear,  you  will  be  stealing  a 
march  on  less  experienced  and  less  ob- 
serving writers. 

In  considering  the  type  of  character 
of  stories,  a  second  side  of  the  question 
of  timeliness  also  plays  a  part.  Like 
clothes,  stories  follow  the  fashions.  Yes- 
terday dialect  stories  were  the  style;  the 
day  before  romantic  fiction;  the  day 
before  that,  bald  realism.  To-day  the 


76  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story 

stories  that  border  on  history  claim 
recognition.  To-morrow  the  style  may 
change.  By  keeping  a  close  watch  on 
what  is  in  vogue,  you  can  more  easily 
please  the  editor. 

Some  one  has  said  that  there  is  a  place 
for  every  story,  good,  bad  or  indifferent, 
that  is  written.  To  a  great  extent,  this 
statement  is  true.  At  the  top  stand  the 
best  magazines;  at  the  bottom,  the  little 
pamphlet  publications  that  do  not  pay 
for  contributions.  Between  these  ex- 
tremes lie  hundreds  of  magazines,  papers, 
syndicates,  etc.,  that  purchase  stories. 
Just  below  the  best  magazines  are  the 
literary  weeklies.  The  religious  papers 
and  magazines  brighten  their  pages  with 
fiction.  The  juvenile  publications  pay 
excellent  prices.  The  household  and 
domestic  journals  run  serials  and  short 
stories.  Even  the  class  publications 
give  space  to  fiction.  Hundreds  of  news- 
papers throughout  the  country  offer  good 
markets.  The  several  syndicates  pur- 
chase liberally  and  pay  well.  For  no 
class  of  work  is  the  market  as  wide  as  for 
the  short  story. 


The  Placing  of  the  Story  77 

You  will  meet  rebuffs  in  placing  your 
work,  lots  of  them.  You  will  grow  dis- 
couraged, no  doubt,  before  you  dispose 
of  your  manuscript.  But  if  you  have 
not  the  bull-dog  tenacity  to  stick  to  it, 
to  meet  each  returning  manuscript  with 
a  smile,  and  to  go  on  hoping  and  be- 
lieving in  yourself,  you  have  no  business 
in  the  literary  profession.  Nor  should 
rejections  discourage  you.  "The  story, 
or  the  article,  or  the  poem,"  says  Albert 
Bigelow  Paine,  "may  come  back  again 
and  again.  The  author  may  rewrite  it 
over  and  over;  but  if  he  perseveres,  and 
the  offering  is  genuine,  it  will  find  its 
place  and  welcome  at  last.  I  have  had 
stories  and  poems  returned  to  me  as 
many  as  fifteen  times,  only  to  place 
them  at  last  in  a  better  market  than  I 
had  hoped  for  in  the  beginning.  The 
author  who  gives  up  after  one  rejection, 
or  two,  or  ten,  is  unworthy  of  the  name." 

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